


Panic Attacks

by chaWOOPa



Series: Red Vs Blue Short Stories [10]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:33:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaWOOPa/pseuds/chaWOOPa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Tucker and Washington have been pretty emotionally fucked up. Wash has some pretty bad flashbacks and PTSD symptoms, and Tucker… Well… He tends to blame himself for everything, even if he pretends he doesn’t. Each man has their own way of dealing with these things when everything seems like it is too much to handle. They suffer alone and in silence until one particularly bad night for Tucker when, despite his best effort, Wash finds out Tucker isn't the unfeeling soldier he pretends to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic Attacks

When it happens to Wash it starts with him biting his lip. A little thing he does sometimes when he is thinking, but when the panic attack starts to set in he bites hard in an attempt to ground himself. Then he starts to shake. When this starts to set in he often excuses himself and retreats to his room where he can ride it out alone. When he gets there he locks the door with fumbling fingers and takes off his armor. Usually taking time to set it up right where it goes. Having some sense of order and routine will help calm the more mild episodes. If the episode isn’t too bad he may find himself cleaning his stuff with shaking hands on wobbly legs, but more often than not it leaves him crying silently as he digs half-moon shaped cuts in his palms or his shins. More often than not he sits in a ball on his bed, rocking back and forth as the flashbacks and feelings overwhelm him. More often than not he finds his chest hurts too much to move and that he can’t breathe. More often than not he fights it off alone, using breathing methods Maine or North had taught him. After it is over, he puts his armor back on and goes to check on his team, making sure to clean any evidence of it up before going. Routine was the best way he had found of coping since Maine had stopped being there to help.

When it happens to Tucker it is often in the middle of the night. He will wake up from his dream because he can’t breathe, sometimes calling out to his son before he realizes what is happening. No one ever comes. After a moment, where he is will register and he will start to shake. He will curl into a ball in the corner of his bed and close his eyes. He will picture the people he loves as he lists them in his head to calm himself down, a trick he picked up from watching his mother deal with the depression his father had left in his wake; Wash, Caboose, Grif, Simmons, Sarge, and so on till he can’t think of any more. As he finishes this list a new one starts before he can stop it; a list of those he has lost. At the top of the list is  Jr., his son, who he sent to saftey while he was in the desert; Church, killed first by Caboose, second by an EMP, and who finally abandon his team without saying goodbye; Carolina, who he pretends he doesn’t like but is one of the people Wash cares about most and, by extension, Tucker cares about: She left with Church; Flowers, the last real leader blue team had and the best person Tucker had ever known;  and so on until he has convinced himself it is his fault they left. He first becomes angry, digging his nails into the back of his head as he screams internally at himself to get a grip. Then anger fades into despair and he sits trembling, curled in a ball until reason comes back and his breathing eases up. He pushes the hopelessness and sadness into the back of his mind and pretends it doesn’t exist until the next time it overwhelms him.

Tucker and Washington fought their demons just like that, on their own, and in their own way, until one night when Wash heard Tucker call out. He jumped out of bed, not even bothering with his armor, grabbing his gun and running to Tucker’s room, preparing for the worst. He got to Tucker’s room and heard nothing from the inside. His nerves were through the roof as he opened the door a crack.

“Don’t come in,” Tucker whispered. Wash almost didn’t hear him.

“Tucker what is going on?” Tucker didn’t answer this time. Wash opened the door the rest of the way to see the pain-in-the-ass soldier curled in on himself with his dreadlocks over his face and his fingers digging into the back of his skull.

Wash threw his gun aside and went to him, sitting on the bed in front of Tucker and putting his hand on his knee. “Tucker?”

“ _Go. Away,_ ” Tucker whispered angrily, trying to control the tremors wrecking his body. Wash moved his hand for a second and started to stand up, but then sat back down.

“No,” He said, his voice stronger than he felt.

Tucker didn’t respond.

“I know what is happening,” he said quietly. “I know how it feels, and I am not leaving you.”

There was a second of silence before Tucker looked up. Wash met Tucker's eyes and noticed that all hint of the bitter sarcasm he was used to seeing across Tucker’s face was gone, and in its place was something he hadn’t seen since before Tex came into Project Freelancer.

After a second, Tucker threw himself at Wash. Wash moved his hands as if to defend himself, but he didn’t need to. Tucker had wrapped his arms around Wash’s torso and the brave, seemingly unshakable soldier was crying on Wash. Wash slid his arms around Tucker, putting one hand on the back of his head and the other rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“Thank you,” Tucker managed when he had finally calmed down. He pulled away from Wash and looked at his hands, his eyes red and puffy.

Wash put his arm back over Tucker’s shoulder and said, “I will always be here, I promise.”

Tucker nodded and then turned back into Wash, hugging him.

That was the last time either was left alone during a panic attack, and the last time either of them slept alone.

Until…

_“Freckles, Shake.”_


End file.
